


Never There

by fields_of_clover



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5838742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fields_of_clover/pseuds/fields_of_clover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The song belongs to me. It sounds amazing...</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The song belongs to me. It sounds amazing...

Being together, day after day.

Watching him, live his life.

Happily smiling, date after date.

Tears fall, but I don't say why.

 

So, I walk after midnight, tears on my face,

no one to witness my pain.

My heart knows I'm broken. My passport is stamped.

Maybe it's better this way.

 

I try to move forward, new faces, new town.

New job, and new living space.

I smile all day now, but it's always fake.

Keep wishing that he'd felt the same.

 

So, I walk after midnight, tears on my face,

no one to witness my shame.

Every man's faceless, I use them at will.

Though, none of them seem to complain.

 

Three years have gone by now. I'm finally cried out,

accepting that it's now okay.

'Cuz I loved, and I lost, but it's time to move on,

white dress, for my wedding day.

 

I smile and try, but I don't make it through,

I crumple and fall without grace.

I let down my family, no partner in life,

We talk, and then I run away.

 

Now, I walk after midnight, tears on my face,

no one to witness my pain.

My heart knows I'm broken, but now it's okay.

Alone, I will find my way.

 

Loneliness lingers, and sometimes I pray,

wishing that I could forget.

The brush of his fingers, the smile on his face,

but I store all those memories away.

 

Because...

 

When, I walk after midnight, with tears on my face,

I know now, that I will not heal.

I breakdown and hurt, but I'll be okay.

I just thought, maybe I should explain.

 

"We just heard Skye's newly released single, After Midnight. So what did you all think?"

 

The crowd cheered loudly, with whoops and hollers ringing out.

 

Skye, the international superstar, sat comfortably in her chair, easy smile on her face, and waited for the crowd's enthusiasm to die down, before the interviewer continued.

 

"This isn't really what we've seen from your label in the past, and although you released this, you admit that you didn't write or record this song..."

 

Skye smiled and nodded, "That is true. I released it for a 'ghost artist.' She works in the industry, and she is a friend of mine, but she generally does not record professionally, in this sense."

 

"The first time I heard, After Midnight, she was in my house, sitting at my piano, playing and singing. She didn't think I was at home at the time, so she sat there, playing, slowly, soulfully, believing she was alone, not expecting anyone to hear her, not wanting anyone to see her... She has always been amazing, and it was humbling to see her performing her own work, to hear that level of resigned melancholy."

 

"She was exposing so many raw nerves, but her acceptance to being broken, embracing the hurt, wow... I... well it was painful to witness."

 

"I was in tears."

 

The interviewer, gracefully slid in her question, "Did she know then, that you saw her?"

 

"Not at the time. I didn't want to interrupt her," Skye laughed a little sadly, "I selfishly didn't want her to stop playing, stop singing... but I guess I also didn't want to embarrass her... "

 

"But we spoke about it later."

 

"Did you try to get her to record it right away?"

 

"No. Initially, I just wanted my friend to feel better... her music is therapy for her. It's very personal to her."

 

"The second time I heard it, she was on my patio absently strumming her guitar, sadly looking off at nothing in particular, and I caught it."

 

Skye pointed to her ear, "She wasn't singing it, but she was playing it, the same song, on her guitar."

 

She sat up straighter in her chair and leaned towards the interviewer, "You need to understand that her song had haunted my thoughts and dreams, since that first time I had heard it with her at my piano, so when I heard it again, I begged her to play it for me."

 

"I could tell she didn't want to, and I don't know why she did, but she played... and it was so... well, wow. When she played for me, I remembered some of the things she was singing about... You know?"

 

"Things from our past, things that seemed insignificant on the fringe, but really were, are life-altering."

 

Skye smiled, her eyes shining a little with tears, "And both times I listened, it brought tears to my eyes."

 

"Look at me," she laughed, "I still get choked up a little thinking about it."

 

"It took me over a year to convince her that she needed to share it with the world."

 

"But, why not release the song under her own name then, get the popularity she deserves?"

 

"That's not what she wants, right now. This song is very personal to her, and although she has given me permission to share information about her song, for now, she prefers to remain anonymous."

 

"Don't misunderstand. There are no less than forty musicians in this zip code, who know exactly who recorded that song, but no one will reveal her. They love her. She's been behind the scenes for years."

 

"Okay then, lets talk lyrics... "

 

Skye explained, "When this started, our friendship was brand new, and we were just starting to girl-bond over lyrics and life's woes."

 

"She fell in love with her best friend at university. Even after I met him, it was months, before I realized they weren't a couple. They were really close. She used to skip out on us to be with him, and she talked about him all the time. I remember she kept inviting him to open mic, but I don't remember him ever coming to hear her play. I think he had a conflicting work schedule, or something else that always just seemed to get in the way."

 

"At first, I thought he wanted to be with her, too... Just they way he looked at her, when he thought no one was watching. But, it just never came to be."

 

"She started spending more of her spare time with me, and he started spending more of his spare time dating other women."

 

"He'd let her down, and she would throw up this emotional blockade. She chose to suffer alone. She would smile this little, flat smile, and look up to the ceiling, so her tears wouldn't spill over. Then, she would just swallow it down. Everything she felt went inside, hidden away."

 

"I was ecstatic when, last minute, she agreed to come home with me. She later told me that she watched him date other women for years, and eventually it broke her heart. Needing to escape England, she and I hopped a plane, and came to LA."

 

"Once here, she avoided intimacy, but she yearned to feel wanted, so she carefully chose to date men who didn't want anything more from her than sex... Then, she would secretly torture herself with guilt after every meaningless encounter, because she felt that she was weak, and her actions were shameful."

 

"Years later, she met a man that she actually grew to care for, and after dating for a long while, they agreed to be married. They were... perfectly imperfect for one another. She was in love with another man, and he was in love with another woman. They had agreed to live what they called their 'second best' lives with one another, in a misguided attempt for happiness, and planned a large wedding in England with her family and childhood friends."

 

"But her parents unknowingly invited him-"

 

"The one she was in love with?"

 

"Yes, and she saw him before the ceremony, by accident... a door left cracked open in the hallway."

 

"So, she broke it off..."

 

"Not until she made it all the way to the altar... She walked in, head high, and breath-taking. Believe me when I say she is stunningly beautiful, but even more so on her wedding day... ... Everything seemed fine, perfect in fact, but then, she just dropped to her knees."

 

"Oh, no! Were you there?"

 

"Yes... "

 

"Her groom went to his knees beside her on the altar, and they talked right there, his arm around her back, heads bent together in hushed tones. I remember all of us tensely watching, waiting in silence. We didn't know what was happening, so we just watched."

 

"Then, I remember, he helped her to her feet and handed her bouquet to one of her bridesmaids. Then, he carefully removed her veil from her hair, and handed to her mother."

 

"I remember, her mother started to speak, but he held his finger to his lips to stop her, then he stepped back in front of his bride. He took her hands and placed them on his shoulders, and knelt down, and removed her high heels from her feet... I thought it was odd then, but she told me later that she had been complaining about how uncomfortable they were for months, so he removed them. She said that he whispered to her that it was because he wanted her to feel better... and... " she put her hand over her heart, "run faster."

 

"Oh my..."

 

"Mind you were are all still sitting there not sure what to expect, not really sure what is going on, when her groom takes her by the shoulders and embraces her warmly, continuing to talk to her, his lips moving against her hair. We couldn't, I couldn't hear them, but it didn't looked heated. It looked endearing."

 

"They shared a sputtered, tearful laugh, when he ceremoniously removed her engagement ring, symbolically, right there at the altar."

 

"Wow."

 

"I know... Then, she said that he whispered that it was okay, and for her to run... So she did."

 

"She ran?"

 

"Yes."

 

"What about the guests and the reception and the gifts?"

 

"Her groom took care of everything."

 

"Is he still single? He sounds like quite a man."

 

"He is a wonderful man. He just wasn't the one for her."

 

"Do you know if they still speak?"

 

"Daily. Their relationship is sound... But the rest of the song... "

 

"Right, the rest... "

 

"It is about her coming to terms with her life. Even on days that she longs to forget him, she loves him, and she is getting better at accepting it, and embracing the void."

 

"Some days are worse than others, but she accepts now that she will never be okay."

 

The interviewer interjects, "Better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all?"

 

Skye nods, "Exactly."

 

She giggles, and continues, "She says that she's broken, but feels much better now that she's stopped looking for glue."

 

"So, there's nothing to fix?"

 

"She says that broken is a state of being, and she accepts that she won't ever be whole."

 

"What about the man?"

 

"We won't be discussing him today, " Skye smiles warmly, "And, I am sure that my time is up."

 

"Thank you for having me."

 

"Thank you for coming, and sharing for your friend."

 

Skye looks at the camera then, and very sincerely addresses her fans, "Thank you all for watching, and listening. Please respect the privacy of this artist, my friend. She is amazing, and I am sure she will compose more, if you all will, please, let her be."


	2. Chapter 2

"Mr. Fitz, didn't you go to Cambridge?"

He raised his head from the lesson plan he was reviewing to address the high school sophomore, occupying the desk directly ahead of him, irritably noting her literature book was closed. 

"Yes, I did, Celeste. Why?"

"Skye, you know who Skye is, right?"

He nodded. (He wasn't that old.)

"Well, she did an interview the other day, and we are trying to use that information to find out who wrote and recorded the song After Midnight."

"What does that have to do with Cambridge?"

"Well, we found some underground recordings, that Skye played on her webcast, when she was at Cambridge," the girl continued, "And although Skye said the artist in question never recorded songs professionally, before After Midnight, there are some similar guitar riffs, within some of the original recordings Skye played-"

"So we think she knew her at Cambridge, and that she either wrote some of the music or played the guitar during some of Skye's webcasts," another student broke in.

"We need more data, but we've already reviewed all of the webcasts that we can find. We kind of hit a wall and can't find anything else."

Trenton, another student, piped up, "And Skye was only in England that one year she attended classes at Cambridge, and her artist is British."

"Her accent is completely obvious, when she sings," Celeste confirmed.

Then, Kaelee continued, "We think Skye met her in London, probably at university, and because they were friends already, Skye helped her escape. "

"Escape what?"

Celeste responded, exasperated, "The love of her life... Have you ever even listened to the song?"

Kaelee shushed Celeste, and added, "You are older than Skye, but you would have been at the university, together, the year she was there, because you would have still been working on your Master's."

"Maybe in passing, I've heard it," he shrugged.

Then, he glared at his class, "Why do you know so much about my educational years at Cambridge, and why does she need to escape someone she loves?"

Celeste sounded disgruntled, "You need to listen to the song."

Kaelee shrugged, "We checked your CV against her IMDB profile."

He sighed, and looked at his class, "Okay. Wow... Did you all think perhaps this artist wants her privacy? Does she have a nom de plume?"

"No... Right now she's a ghost. Please, Mr. Fitz. Do you remember her at all?"

"Or anyone she hung out with?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, "I remember Skye... being on campus. I would see her around, but we weren't really friends... She was a friend of a few of my friends, I guess. I met her, and knew her by association, but didn't really interact with her directly."

"That's more than we have right now... Do you think you could help us?"

"At all?"

"Please."

His eye brows raised. The entire class was either talking to or listening to him. They were all interested in Skye and her unknown artist.

He thought for a moment, then addressed the whole class, "If everyone gets above ninety-four percent on their examination Friday... I will try... to help you. We will take the last ten minutes of each session to investigate."

He wasn't sure it was appropriate in the strictest sense, but he needed to get his class back on track, and if researching an international superstar's secret friend would help, he was willing to take some time to do that.

_____________________________

 

When Leo Fitz got home to his flat that evening, he pulled out his laptop and tossed it onto the kitchen counter, making himself a cup of tea, before he settled onto a stool. Then, he searched for the 'lyrical' After Midnight video on YouTube.

He needed to know what the kids were talking about, if he was going to keep them motivated enough to participate in his Literature class. 

He instructed several differentiated literature classes at Academia Ingenium, an elite school for the gifted, and the teenage geniuses he taught could easily become bored if they weren't challenged by something that captivated their interests.

So, if Skye was what they were interested in, he could work with that.

He watched the video on mute first, reading the words out loud to himself, as they appeared on the screen, and immediately determined it was a tragic love story, from start to finish, honesty and self-depreciation woven through out, and just the thing to pull on the heart strings of hormonal teenagers, geniuses or not.

He evaluated the literal and lyrical qualities of the overall piece, subconsciously acknowledging the artist's use of repetition, reusing but changing pivotal words to create dynamic fluidity, and he recognized the soft rhyme and rhythm characteristically applied within musical composition. 

He appreciated that the entire story was created and communicated to its audience in nine stanzas, a mere thirty-six lines.

But, when he watched the video with the audio playing, and it was downright eerie.

The singer's voice was strong, but hoarse with emotion, sometimes broken on the edge of tears, and it made the hair on his arms stand on end.

He felt a bit awkward, like he'd intruded within the personal space of the artist's private thoughts, almost as if her journal had been embarrassingly read out loud to him.

Just the honest and raw way the woman was singing, exposing her pain, he almost felt guilty for listening, ashamed even, practically tearing up for this unknown woman's loss.

It took him the rest of the evening to shake off the emotional response he was having to After Midnight, acknowledging exactly why this stirred his students into their current adolescent melodramatic frenzy, but still slightly puzzled as to why it was effecting him so much. His passion for literature did indeed make him more sensitive than others to emotional variance, but this seemed somehow different, almost like there was more to it, something presently intangible.

The next morning he watched the interview the teens had been talking about in class.

During the interview, Skye was warm and endearing and kind, as she passionately spoke about her friend. She was careful not to mention her friend by name, but it was obvious that she truly cared for her and wanted to protect her, if she could, while still allowing the world to hear great things created by her.

He smiled, when she diplomatically, but abruptly ended the interview without giving too much of anything away.

Then, his mind wandered to Jemma's wedding a couple of years ago, thinking to himself that apparently more weddings ended in a fleeing bride or groom, than one would think.


	3. Chapter 3

"Fiiitz," she softly called from the living room.

 

He had heard her key in the door and was pulling a sweatshirt on over his pajamas to join her in the great room, "Just a minute."

 

She had gone to the open counter area, and was pulling out the breakfast she had purchased, when he emerged from the hall and stumbled tiredly across the seating area.

 

She glanced up at him endearingly, and offered him a sugar-laced tea, which he accepted with a smile.

 

"Is Hunter here? I brought him breakfast, too."

 

"He worked last night... I don't think he's home yet," he said tucking into his food.

 

She ruffled his curly hair with her fingers, then shrugged, and pulled out a pastry for herself, and started to nibble on its edge.

 

They ate in companionable silence, then he excused himself to go take a shower, while she cleaned up.

 

She heard footsteps, and she started to tease him, "Did you forge-"

 

When she raised her eyes, there was a beautiful tall blond women, with a soft smile, and a bra size much larger than Jemma's, crossing the carpet between them.

 

The woman stopped in front of Jemma, and held out her hand to introduce herself, "Hi, I'm Bobby. You must be Jemma... Fitz talks about you all the time."

 

"Uh, yes. Yep. I'm Jemma," she replied shaking her hand awkwardly, before quietly looking at the floor.

 

She was having trouble making eye contact with the woman who was presumably naked, save the blue button up shirt she had given Fitz last year for his birthday.

 

Jemma cleared her throat, and stretched her tiny frame straight and tall.

 

"Would you like a pastry? I really must be going, but I brought enough to share," Jemma pointed to the box on the counter.

 

The woman smiled, and nodded, "Thank you."

 

Ever polite, "Would you like me to make you some tea, before I go?"

 

"No thank you," she pointed to herself then, "American--I don't usually drink tea, but I brought a coffee pot over her a few weeks ago, so I'll get it going. Thanks."

 

The stunning blond, walked to the kitchen side of the counter and comfortably started making coffee, without any hesitation. She seemed to know where everything was kept.

 

When Fitz emerged later, still wet from the shower, but with jeans slung low on his hips, he was pulling a v-neck tee shirt on over his crazy curly, wet hair.

 

"Hey, Bobby. Where's Jemma?"

 

"Said she had to get going... but Fitz, she is definitely a keeper. Super cute and tiny... friendly... bringing your sorry ass breakfast."

 

" I know," he laughed, "Thank you for your stunning assessment... When did you guys get in? I thought that Lance was still at work."

 

"Boss let him off early, so he picked me up, and we came home for... activities."

 

"Please, do not ever say that out loud to me again," he laughed, his ears turning pink.

 

She joined in, "You are so innocent."

 

He blushed, "I am not. Go away."

 

She laughed again and returned to Lance's room, presumably to wake him up for breakfast, or more... activities.

 

Fitz moved about getting ready for his last final.

 

One more exam, and he could sit Jemma down for a long talk.

 

_____________________________________

 

She was the most beautiful bride he had ever seen, but just seeing her father gently take her hand in the alcove, readying her to take that step into forever with another man, made him severely nauseous.

 

As soon as they cleared the threshold entering the sanctum, he ran for the door, sliding out along the wall.

 

He couldn't watch her marry some one else. His heart hurt, and his eyes burned.

 

He wasn't sure what had happened. He thought that he had meant more to her, but she had left for America without saying good-bye.

 

She apparently hadn't noticed their friendship evolving, hadn't noticed that he had stopped seeing everyone but her. In his mind they had been exclusive for months, before she even disappeared.

 

He had just needed one more day to finish up with school, one more day, then he would have told her everything, how he felt.

 

It was so long ago, but it felt like yesterday, that hurt, that loss. 

 

His pain still felt new, and he didn't want to be tortured anymore, but somewhere along the way, he had accepted that lost love was just going to be part of his everyday life.

 

Then, he smiled a little and laughed at himself, because it was similar to the song. He knew how the artist felt in the end, injured but appreciative of the journey that got her there.

 

Bittersweet, that night he slept, his dreams plagued by scenes from his past.

 

_____________________________________

 

"Okay, what do you have?"

 

"Skye did another interview... You'll need to watch that tonight," said Celeste.

 

"Okay. I have a friend who was also friends with Skye back at uni. He may have a little bit of information for us, too... Anything else?"

 

"Can you get us a sit down with Skye? We are in California. You do kind of know her. She does write songs. That would translate to literature," Trenton quickly sputtered.

 

"I am not sure I can do that, she is an international super star, and I teach high school lit... But I can try," He hesitated, "On what premise are we requesting a sit down?"

 

"The literary significance of her art-"

 

"Her poetry-"

 

"Poetic interpretation-"

 

"I am on the school paper... I mean, if that helps," interjected Kaelee, with the others, "We could say that along with the field trip, I want to interview her for the paper."

 

"I will talk to the principal," he said, happy that there were only twelve students in this particular class, twelve genius intelligence level, not-taking-no-for-an-answer students.

 

"I may be able to get her personal contact information, from Lance, if they have kept in touch."

 

_____________________________________

 

He called and left a message for Lance, and then queued up YouTube again, to watch the newest Skye interview.

 

It started much like the first interview, then he was interrupted by Lance's call back.

 

"Hello?"

 

"Fitz, I was waiting for your call."

 

"You were? I called you last month."

 

"That was before."

 

"Before what?"

 

"Before After Midnight."

 

"That's why I'm calling."

 

"I know."

 

"How do you know? I just started talking to my class about it last week."

 

"What?"

 

"My class wants to meet Skye, and interview her for the school newspaper. I know it's a long shot, but I was calling to see if you have Skye's personal contact information. I thought you two might still be in touch."

 

"Oh... yeah. I'll message it to you. Is that all?"

 

"The kids are trying to find out who her mystery artist is. So, if you have any leads, please send that too."

 

"Yeah. I'll look. If I find anything, I will get it to you."

 

"I miss having you around, Lance. Bobby, too."

 

"We'll visit soon, mate."

 

Fitz laughed, "No problem. I have Summers off, you know. Just let me know."

 

"I'll message you later."

 

"I really appreciate it."

 

"Bye."

 

"Bye."

 

He returned to the video.

 

The interviewer was getting a little cut throat, but Skye backed him down with an easy smile.

 

"How are you handling your fans' disappointed now that you are openly deceiving them?"

 

"There is no deception. My fans appreciate music. I have been honest about everything that is pertinent to this album."

 

"But you will not name the artist?"

 

"I have been honest about that also. I am not naming the artist."

 

The interviewer gloated a little, "Well, we have information that leads us to believe that we may have identified the Englishman that is the object of your artist's affection. We have a crew on location in London to blow the top off of this story."

 

She looked at him sincerely, "Then, you have definitely been misinformed. As much as I would like to witness your public humiliation, he isn't from England, and he no longer resides there."

 

She stood, effectively ending the interview, while the interviewer puffed his cheeks out like a fish.

 

"Happy hunting," she said condescendingly, then walked off of the stage.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hello?"

 

"Hello, Skye? I am Leo Fitz. We went to Cambridge together."

 

"Yes?"

 

"I apologize. Lance Hunter gave me your number. We used to be flatmates. I was friends with Jemma Simmons."

 

"How can I help you, Leo Fitz?"

 

"I teach literature here in California, and my class would like to talk to you about your... literary process. One of my students also writes for our school's newspaper, and she would like to ask you a few questions, too, if possible."

 

She was silent for a moment, so he started rambling, "I am so sorry. I know you are busy... But, if you are willing, I can email the questions to you, or your agent, or... we could teleconference... or Skype... or- "

 

"Whoa. Hang on. Slow your roll, killer. I was just thinking over my schedule..."

 

"Oh... okay."

 

"I have time a week from this Thursday. You can come to my home. I will message you the time and address, with the gate code. You may bring your school newspaper reporter and two other students."

 

"That's great... amazing. Really, thank you. Thanks a lot."

 

"No problem... Leo Fitz."

 

______________________________________

 

"He has no clue."

 

"He never did."

 

"Maybe if he had come to hear her play, he wouldn't be so lost now."

 

"He did have legitimate reasons why he never made it to open mic, Skye, and he was a zombie for weeks after she left."

 

"Ugggh, they are so.... frustrating."

 

"Send me the video files, and I will get them to him. That should help."

 

"When do you fly in?"

 

"We will be there Tuesday. Send a car?"

 

"Yep. See you soon... Safe travels."

 

______________________________________

 

"Wow, you do have connections, Mr. Fitz."

 

"Thanks..."

 

He cleared his throat, " So, Kaelee is a given, but the other two seats... Why don't I quiz you for position?"

 

Excited grumbles.

 

He would accept excited grumbles.

 

______________________________________

 

"Oh my God, Lance?"

 

"Jemma!"

 

She ran forward to tuck herself under the arm of her friend.

 

"I haven't seen you for years... How are you?"

 

"You know me," he shrugged and smirked, then looked over Jemma's head.

 

He turned Jemma to the right, " Jemma, this is my-"

 

"Bobby."

 

"Yes, Bobby, my wife."

 

"Your wife."

 

He looked back and forth between the two women in front of him.

 

"Do you know each other?"

 

"We met at your flat, just once. Jemma brought Fitz breakfast and offered to share with me," she smiled warmly, "How have you been Jemma?"

 

"Fine, um, fine... I'm going to throw up," then she ran for the nearest restroom.

 

Lance and Bobby just looked at each other puzzled, then Bobby's jaw dropped, "Oh. My. God!"

 

______________________________________

 

He hit the appropriate keys to download the video file, and made himself a cup of tea.

 

He heard a guitar playing, then an amazing cover of Jewel's Standing Still.

 

\--Cuttin' through the darkest night

\--in my two headlights.

\--Trying to keep it clear,

\--but I'm losing it here

\--to the twilight.

 

\--There's a dead end to my left;

\--there's a burning bush to my right.

\--You aren't in sight,

\--You aren't in sight.

 

\--Do you want me,

\--like I want you?

 

\--Or am I standing still,

\--beneath the darkened sky?

 

\--Or am I standing still,

\--with the scenery flying by?

 

\--Or am I standing still,

\--out of the corner of my eye?

 

\--Was that you

\--passing my by?

 

\--Mothers on the stoop.

\--Boys in souped-up coupes,

\--on this hot summer night,

\--between fight and flight

\--is the blind man's sight

\--and the choice that's right.

 

\--I roll the window down,

\--feel like I'm gonna drown

\--in this strange town.

 

\--Feel broken down,

\--I feel broken down.

 

\--Do you need me,

\--like I need you?

 

\--Or am I standing still,

\--beneath the darkened sky?

 

\--Or am I standing still,

\--with the scenery flying by?

 

\--Or am I standing still,

\--out of the corner of my eye?

 

\--Was that you

\--passing my by?

 

\--Sweet sorrow is the call tomorrow.

\--Sweet sorrow is the call tomorrow.

 

\--Do you love me,

\--like I love you?

 

\--Or am I standing still,

\--beneath the darkened sky?

 

\--Or am I standing still,

\--With the scenery flying by?

 

\--Or am I standing still,

\--out of the corner of my eye?

 

\--Was that you

\--passing my by?

 

\--Are you passing me by?

 

\--Passing me by

 

\--Do you want me?

 

\--Passing me by

 

\--Do you need me,

\--like I needed you too?

 

\--And do you want me,

\--like I want you?

 

\--Are you passing me by?

 

\--Or, am I standing still?

 

He watched the video several times, before he believed it. Jemma, his Jemma, was playing, and singing, and she was amazing. 

 

He knew Jemma had been an excellent musician, but he'd never heard her play anything beyond classical piano and violin and piccolo.

 

He noticed at the end of the song that she looked to someone to the left side of the stage. 

 

It was Skye, and she sadly shook their head no.

 

Jemma nodded once, and took a deep breath, before clearly saying thank you into the mic in front of the small bar crowd. She left the stage with her guitar in her hand, wiping her eyes with the heal of her unoccupied hand, side-stepping Skye's open arms, then disappearing behind the curtain.

 

The next video downloaded.

 

Jemma was in a room with Skye and a handful of people that he didn't recognize. It looked like a small gathering at someone's home, and it was a private video, because every once in a while the person recording would laugh or talk to others in the group.

 

After about twenty seconds, Skye talked Jemma into going to the large white piano at the corner of the room.

 

The man recording, whooped loudly, too close to the microphone, then everyone waited.

 

Jemma looked around warmly, then said, "I'll only play one..."

 

Then she looked around the room while she played the short into the Elton John's Tiny Dancer.

 

\--Blue jean baby, LA lady,

\--seamstress for the band,

\--Pretty eyed, pirate smile,

\--you'll marry a music man.

 

\--Ballerina,

\--you must have seen her

\--dancing in the sand.

 

\--And now she's in me.

\--Always with me,

\--tiny dancer in my hand.

 

During the musical interlude, Jemma tells everyone they have to sing, "The second one, when I get there," and they all smile and agree.

 

Then she continues, without missing a beat.

 

\--Jesus freaks

\--out in the street

\--handing tickets out for God.

 

\--Turning back,

\--she just laughs.

\--The boulevard

\--is not that bad.

 

\--Piano man,

\--he makes his stand

\--in the auditorium.

 

\--Looking on,

\--she sings the songs.

\--The words she knows

\--the tune she hums.

 

Jemma plays the piano interlude perfectly...

then sings again,

 

\--But oh how it feels so real,

\--lying here,

\--with no one near.

 

\--Only you,

\--and you can hear me,

\--when I say softly,

\--slowly,

 

\--Hold me closer tiny dancer.

\--Count the headlights on the highway.

\--Lay me down in sheets of linen.

\--You had a busy day today.

 

Jemma, "Everyone... "

 

\--Hold me closer tiny dancer.

\--Count the headlights on the highway.

\--Lay me down in sheets of linen.

\--You had a busy day today.

 

Jemma looked around lovingly at her friends while she played another interlude.

 

\--Blue jean baby, LA lady,

\--seamstress for the band,

\--Pretty eyed, pirate smile,

\--you'll marry a music man.

 

\--Ballerina,

\--you must have seen her

\--dancing in the sand.

 

\--And now she's in me.

\--Always with me,

\--tiny dancer in my hand.

\--But oh how it feels so real

\--lying here with no one near,

 

\--Only you,

\--and you can hear me,

\--when I say softly,

\--slowly,

 

Jemma yelled, "Skye!"

 

And Skye sang, as Jemma played.

 

\--Hold me closer tiny dancer.

\--Count the headlights on the highway.

\--Lay me down in sheets of linen.

\--You had a busy day today.

 

Then Skye, laughed, and yelled, "You finish, Jem."

 

And she did, beautifully.

 

\--Hold me closer tiny dancer.

\--Count the headlights on the highway.

\--Lay me down in sheets of linen.

\--You had a busy day today.

 

He was amazed, and sad, and angry. His missed her, and he loved her, and he didn't understand why she left him.

 

He sat quietly that night and replayed their relationship in his mind, wondering what went wrong.

 

Why did she leave?

 

Why did she not return his calls?

 

Who does that to her best friend?


	5. Chapter 5

"Hello?"

 

"Lance?"

 

"Yeah, mate?"

 

"Um... It's Jemma, isn't it?"

 

Lance sighed, "Yeah, mate, it's Jemma."

 

"And the best friend... that was me?"

 

"It's you."

 

"What do I do?"

 

"I don't know. How do you feel?"

 

"Sad, happy, angry."

 

"Yeah, I suppose that would be normal, right now."

 

"I need to think."

 

"Take your time, and let me know, if you need anything."

 

"Thanks."

 

______________________________

 

They pulled up the drive to a stretched ranch house and got out of the car.

 

"Hey!" Skye called, coming out the front door.

 

Surprisingly, she hugged Fitz.

 

"I do remember you."

 

He blushed, "Yeah."

 

The teens raised their eyebrows at the exchange, but remained silent.

 

"Let's go to my home studio, and I'll show you around first."

 

She led them to a separate building, and ushered them inside.

 

There were different rooms that served different functions. There was a recording booth. There was an open music room. There was a room, that just housed various instruments.

 

"Do you play all of these instruments?" asked Kaelee.

 

"I play a few of them, but my friend Jemi (pronounced Jay-mee), she plays them all."

 

"Wow, that's impressive. Is she a recording artist?"

 

"She is a producer and a composer, and when wonderful musicians like myself get stuck, or we can't find our sound, Jemi helps us recapture our music."

 

Trenton, "What is her full name? I'd like to look her up later."

 

"Jemi Simon. J-E-M-I S-I-M-O-N. She's been everywhere, but she lives behind the scenes. She has worked with hundreds of musicians. When you hear those thank you speeches, and the artists just say, 'and I want to thank Jemi," that's her they're talking about."

 

They came to a cushy room with a control panel and a work station to one side, and a conference table surrounded by chairs on the other side. She invited the students and Fitz to sit down at the table, then went to the control panel.

 

She pushed a few buttons, then she said into the attached mic, "Hey, I have some students in here. Will you play for us?"

 

"Sure. Okay, what do you want to hear, Skye?" The students looked from one to the other. The artist on the other side of the speakers was British. 

 

The students shook with excitement.

 

"One sec."

 

Skye turned back to the group.

 

"This artist can play anything. What do you want to hear?"

 

"After Midnight," the students all said in unison.

 

Then Fitz said, "Standing Still."

 

Skye looked at Fitz, carefully, ignoring the puzzled teenagers.

 

"Are you sure? You can't undo it once it's done."

 

"Well, I'm about six years late, but give me some credit. I showed after all."


	6. Chapter 6

"Will you play Standing Still?"

 

"Really?"

 

"Believe it or not, I've had a request."

 

"Give me a sec to grab my guitar."

 

"Okay."

 

She turned back to the students, and asked, "Change of plan... Would you guys like to meet the rest of my band while Mr. Fitz listens to his song? Maybe get some complimentary t-shirts, that we will all sign for you?"

 

The students were ecstatic. One actually hopped.

 

She ushered them out into the hall, then turned back to Fitz, as the song started over the speakers, "Out that door," she pointed, "Her practice studio is the third door on the right. She will be sitting facing away from the door. She always does."

 

He nodded, and she led the students down another corridor to meet her band-mates.

 

It was odd walking down the silent hall. He knew as he approached the door, that she was playing on the other side. He only hesitated for a moment, then slid through the door.

 

Her back was to the door, so she continued to play and sing, not knowing he was watching her.

 

\--Sweet sorrow is the call tomorrow.

\--Sweet sorrow is the call tomorrow.

 

\--Do you love me,

\--like I love you?

 

He took a step.

 

\--Or am I standing still,

\--beneath the darkened sky?

 

\--Or am I standing still,

\--With the scenery flying by?

 

He took another step.

 

\--Or am I standing still,

\--out of the corner of my eye?

 

\--Was that you

\--passing my by?

 

\--Are you passing me by?

 

\--Passing me by

 

\--Do you want me?

 

He touched her shoulder, and she turned while she played, like it was normal for someone to have to touch her to get her attention.

 

When she saw it was him, she froze.

 

"I missed you Jem."

 

She took a deep breath, then let it out.

 

"Yeah, me too," she said dazedly, slowly.

 

"Why then? Why did you leave?"

 

She looked away, squared her shoulders and looked forward, "You didn't want what I wanted, and I needed to stop torturing myself."

 

"You didn't say good-bye, didn't answer my calls?"

 

"Um yeah. That morning I brought you breakfast... I thought Bobby was there with you."

 

"What?... ... Ohhh," he tilted his head, "I guess that sort of makes since, except... I wasn't dating anyone else... I was only seeing you... "

 

Hesitantly, "Fitz... we never dated."

 

"I suppose not in your eyes, but I was going to talk to you about it... after graduation. I wasn't seeing anybody else. I wanted to be with you, Jem. I just needed to get through one more final... ... but you left."

 

She whispered, "You wanted to be with me?"

 

"Yeah, I did... "

 

She whispered, "Oh..."

 

After a few seconds of silence, he cleared his throat and spoke again, "Um, Jemma... "

 

"Hmmm?"

 

"After Midnight, that's you..."

 

She looked troubled, but didn't turn to look at him.

 

"Yeah, ummm... yeah that's me."

 

Silence.

 

Very softly, he asked, "Is it me?"

 

Silence.

 

She wiped her face,"Yeah, it is."

 

Silence.

 

He stepped in front of her and took the guitar out of her lap to place it gently to the side on the floor.

 

Then he knelt in front of her, and scooped his hands behind her knees to move her forward in her chair, a maneuver he had executed a hundred times before with her, and this time was as fluid as any of the others. He pushed forward and hugged her like he used to, going to his knees in front of her, his hands at either side of her tiny waist.

 

She placed her hands on his shoulders, and started to hug him, like she would have before, but it wasn't like it was before.

 

This time was different.

 

She stepped out of the chair, still in his embrace, using her left leg to push her forward, as she dropped and wrapped her right leg around his waist.

 

He sat back on his heals, for stability with her forward movement, but didn't let go, just pulled her tighter, and she wrapped her left leg around his back, too, crossing her ankles and feet behind his bum.

 

His face was buried in the her right shoulder.

 

Her face was nestled into the right side of his neck.

 

They didn't talk for several minutes. They just clung to one another.

 

Then she raised her head, and he, feeling her movement, raised his, too.

 

She spoke hesitantly, "It has been a long time. We aren't the same as we were."

 

"We are probably better. We've grown up. I think you'll find we are still the same where it counts."

 

She blurted out, "I'm a millionaire. I'm Jemi Simon"

 

He laughed, "Me, too..."

 

She tilted her head.

 

"The Undercover Heart mysteries? Paul Fitzsimmons?"

 

She nodded.

 

"That's me."

 

She laughed.

 

"Of course it is... 'LeoPALd.'" 

 

She giggled, "We are something, aren't we?"

 

"We certainly are."

 

"I love you, you know," she whispered.

 

He responded softly, "I figured it out."

 

"And you? You combined my name with yours in your pen name," she probed.

 

"I love you back."

 

She leaned down to capture his lips with hers.

 

When they finally parted, he leaned back and said, "I want more from you than sex, just so we are clear from the beginning."

 

She blushed, "Oh, shut up, you."

 

Holding her to him with his right hand, he slid his left hand up her back, to her neck, and gently nudged her back into another kiss. That kiss went on and on and on...

 

"Ahem. You need to untangle yourselves, because teach here, needs to get the kiddies back to school, yeah?"

 

"Lance?"

 

"Yeah, mate."

 

Fitz pushed up so he was no longer sitting on his feet, sliding his hands down to cup Jemma's bottom, so she didn't fall, and could get her footing.

 

When she unhooked her feet and placed them on the floor, then she used his shoulders to steady herself as she stepped back and pushed herself up to a standing position, before taking his hand and pulling him up beside her.

 

"What are you doing here?"

 

"I'm here, for this, mate. Skye and I were on opposite sides of the pond, then one day, she called about Jem's song. We had it figured it out, but knew that you two never would, so Skye worked on Jemma to release it. We hoped eventually you would figure it out, Fitz, or someone in the media would expose Jemma and force you to figure it out."

 

She sucked air through her teeth, "That's cold."

 

"That is cold," Fitz agreed, "What if it had failed?"

 

"There was never a chance. If Jemma had read your damn books, she'd have figured that out for herself."

 

"What?" she turned surprised.

 

"Read his first book. It's about you."

 

"We always did like self-sacrifice and torture."

 

"Not in our lives. In books and movies and music."

 

"Books and movies and music are artistic representations of life."

 

"Agree."

 

"How do you guys do that?"

 

They turned, "What?"

 

"You fall away into your own conversations, where you share a brain."

 

They just shrugged.

 

______________________________________________

 

"We don't share a brain, you know, " she unnecessarily reassured him.

 

He grinned, "I am aware that my skull has certain limitations, Jem."

 

"My heart really was broken, all those years. We might share one of those." She rubbed the palm of her hand over his heart.

 

"That theory may be true. I feel whole again, and I don't ever want to be away from you again."

 

"I concur, but right now... I have to take the stage."

 

He gave her a quick kiss careful not to disturb her make-up, and gave her a reassuring smile.

 

She sang her song on national television, at the piano, alone.

 

Jemma Simmons, who became Jemi Simon, and would eventually become Jemma Fitz.


End file.
